The Stuff that Dreams are Made of
by rann
Summary: A priceless object last seen in Paris and missing for some fifty years is about to turn up in an obscure shop on the Eurasian continent in 1923. Where could it have been? And how could the explorers be entwined in its destiny?


**Disclaimer:**The characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are owned by Telescene, NewLine Television, The Over the Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, etc.  No profit is being made from this story.  No infringement upon copyrighted material is intended.

**Setting:** Somewhere in Season four

**Spoilers: **Salvation, Paradise Found, Bloodlust, Camelot, Resurrection, Survivors, Pirate's Curse, Legacy, Heart of the Storm

**Description:  **A priceless object last seen in Paris and missing for some fifty years is about to turn up in an obscure shop on the Eurasian continent in 1923.  Where could it have been?  And how could the explorers be entwined in its destiny?

**Thanks: ** To Ariadne, Christine and Debbie who beta'd this for me.  Your contributions were truly invaluable.  Any problems with the story are mine, despite their best efforts. 

**A/N: **I had a little fun while writing this with movie and literary references. Knowledge of the references is not necessary to understand the story.  This started out as a challenge fic, but the plot stubbornly refused to come together by the deadline.  Now it's just for the enjoyment.

Portraying relationships in the future is tricky.  For Ned and Veronica's relationship, I think when Ned comes back they are going to have to iron out some of their differences.  Much of how I drew them is based on their interactions and conversations in Season 3.  For Roxton and Marguerite, I think we'll still see some sparks flying, after all we really wouldn't want them overly sentimental.  They're 'too wise to woo peaceably'.  Thank goodness.

**The Stuff That Dreams are Made of   
by rann**

"I think that's the complete list, Veronica."  Challenger glanced back from the shelves filled with jars of dried herbs and other plants.  Natural daylight penetrated between the slightly spaced logs that comprised the treehouse's frame to illuminate the workspace sufficiently for the scientist's needs.

"It shouldn't take me too long." The blonde jungle beauty looked up from the list she'd been studying as she bent over the lab table. "Everything on here is relatively close."

"Perhaps we should consider cultivating some of the plants."  The tall red-headed man was intent on his live specimens in their glass-enclosed homes.

Veronica considered his suggestion. "Wherever I can I'll bring back the root system intact."

"I'd better come with you."  Malone's voice broke into the discussion, as he stepped off the bottom stair.  

"Why?"  Veronica turned, puzzled.

"You shouldn't go alone, it's too dangerous."  The youthful blonde reporter spoke in an assertive voice, anxious to demonstrate to Veronica that he was a fully capable as anyone.  And that he knew how to watch over his…friends.

"I've been getting around on my own for a number of years, Malone."  Veronica's temper was being roused by the attitude her housemate was projecting.

"It doesn't mean it's a good idea."  Malone's imperious attitude now had Veronica's hackles up.

"I suppose it was a good idea for you to go wandering all over the plateau on your own."  The jungle raised girl shot back.

"I took care of myself."  Defensiveness hardened his voice.

"And I can't?"  Veronica's temper was spiraling.

"There's no need. I'm here."  Malone, speaking as if this was the last word on the subject, was determined she'd see that he could and would protect her.

"No, Malone, I'll do it myself."  Her voice was even, cold; but her eyes were blazing as she spoke.

The reporter's mouth twisted in anger and he turned away to retreat up the stairs.

Challenger, forgotten by the combatants, looked on unhappily.  He felt uncomfortable and irritated that his simple errand had turned his lab into a battlefield.

***

"We need the supplies, Roxton."  Marguerite's insistence had the hunter's shoulders stiffening in anger.  Several rifles were laid out on the table in the great room.  The bright morning sunshine flooded the room.

"We need the meat as well, Marguerite.  Once the hunting is complete, I'll take you on the trading trip."  No thought of compromise entered Roxton's mind.

"It's not that far, I can manage on my own."  Marguerite could match him for stubbornness.

"No, it's too dangerous.  You'll need someone to watch your back.  Besides, it'll be too much for you to carry on your own."  The hunter was glad to think of a reason that didn't imply she wasn't capable of taking care of herself.

"I can go with her."  Malone had just come up from the lab in time to hear the acrimonious discussion.  Veronica might not need him, but others knew he could be counted on.  She'd see he was a valuable member of the group.

Roxton hesitated.  He trusted Malone, but there were some things he preferred to handle himself.

Marguerite raised her eyebrows.  "Surely, you can't have any objections to that plan."  

"Fine!"  The word was bitten out.

"Fine!  Malone, we'll leave in an hour."  She turned on her heel to walk away with a sharp step from the stone-faced hunter

"Sure, Marguerite."  Malone decided to find someplace else to occupy himself until this storm passed.  Since his return he could face raptors without flinching.  But nothing could prevail upon him to get between those two in the midst of a quarrel.

Marguerite stalked down the stairs into her room gathering her pack for the trip.  "We need to take the smelted ores and the medicine, some of the embroidery can be used.  We'll want more raw ore, some cloth, and salt."  She was absorbed in her mental list making.  She swiveled to exit the room and bumped into Roxton.  

"Marguerite."  He got no further but simply pulled her into his arms and kissed her, hungrily.

Her arms went around him, a hand at the back of his neck as she gave into the demand of his lips.  

"I'm still angry."  Her voice was muffled as her lips pressed against the corner of his mouth moving gently across the skin.  The stubble on his cheek made her lips tingle.

He buried his face into her neck, inhaling the delicate scent from her hair.  "So am I.  But it was either this or strangle you."  A gentle nip at the juncture of her neck and shoulder caused her to catch her breath.

"Are you sure this was your first choice?"  A hint of laughter tinged her voice as she continued to nuzzle him in return.

"No, but I realized I could always strangle you later."  His arms tightened about her as she rested her head on his chest.  His ears, trained to pick up every clue on the trail, heard Malone's footsteps retreating softly on the stairs.

"You will be careful."  There was no humor in the hunter's tone.

"And you.  I don't want to be stitching you up as well as your shirts."

"Ah, it's the work involved you're concerned about, not me."

"Of course, I have enough to –" Roxton's mouth cut her words off abruptly.

***

"Malone, don't let her dally over the trading."  Roxton was checking Malone's pistol in the great room, much to the reporter's chagrin.  "It'll will take you most of what's left of the day to get there and back."

"I'll do my best, but you know Marguerite."  The reporter gave his mentor a wry smile.  He consoled himself with the thought that Roxton's actions weren't an indictment of his abilities; just evidence of how protective the hunter was of Marguerite.

"Hmm.  That I do.  Keep your eyes open on the trail."  The hunter continued to issue instructions as he laid down Malone's pistol and picked up Marguerite's.

"I'll bring her back in one piece, Roxton."  Malone couldn't quite hide his amusement as he tried to soothe his friend's fears.

"Make sure she lets you come back in one piece."  He sought to disguise his discomfort with being so transparent over Marguerite's safety with humor.

"I heard that.  Shouldn't you be off on the trail of some dangerous predator?"  Marguerite's mocking tones cut into the conversation.

The hunter grinned as the expedition's linguist walked into the great room buckling her gun belt on.  He dropped his mouth to her ear.  "I'd already gotten a start on that."  He caught the hand that was playfully swung at him in counterfeit anger.  He expected her reaction.  He raised the delicate hand to his lips, surprising her.  Their eyes locked, suddenly serious.  She turned her hand and brought his strong hand to her lips, returning the caress.

In sudden remembrance of their audience, her eyes darted to where the reporter had stood, but he had moved away, discreetly checking his pistol.  Roxton threw him a look that acknowledged his tactfulness in performing the unnecessary task as he handed Marguerite her pistol.

"Let's get started.  I'll walk with you a ways on the path."  The British nobleman's voice had raised to included Malone.  Dropping his voice he continued for Marguerite's benefit, "I need to stay on that trail."  He raised his eyebrows at the dark haired beauty, who shook her head and unsuccessfully tried to frown at him.

***

A decidedly cheerful attitude marked the hunter's progress.  The results of a productive hunting trip were slung over his shoulder wrapped in canvas.  A break in the trees let him see the sky clearly.  Judging by the sun's position Marguerite and Malone should be on their way back.  _"She'll be fine.  She's very self-sufficient and competent.  Besides, Ned's with her and he's become much more proficient these days."_  Roxton argued himself into a more equable frame of mind.  Despite his contented outlook he didn't ignore the basic caution that kept one alive in the jungle.

A sudden prickling sensation ran down his spine. He had learned the hard way not to ignore that sixth sense. But there were no variations in the usual sounds that filled the jungle - No, wait! Was that a flash of movement off to the left? Yes, there it was again, barely a glimpse visible through the dense underbrush, but definitely moving closer. He waited guardedly, ready to dive for cover and defend himself if necessary. But nothing could have prepared him for what emerged from the trees a dozen yards away.   
  
Roxton stood frozen.  What he was seeing couldn't exist.  It was a myth.  It looked at him curiously, studying him.  Or so it seemed, as it stood rooted to the ground.  Unwilling to hurt anything not threatening him, or that wasn't on the menu, the hunter made no move to bring up his gun.  Almost as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared.

The rocky ground yielded no visual confirmation for what he had seen.  "Or thought I saw.  Challenger's bloody shifting planes of reality are starting to get to me." 

***

Opening the electric fence's gate, Roxton still was unsure if he should reveal his experience to the others.  Perhaps he could talk to Marguerite.  It wouldn't be the first time that the two of them kept quiet about an encounter.  Even when they had only been on the plateau a few months she never told anyone about Osric.  As Summerlee and Challenger fussed over Malone and Veronica fending off the attack on the treehouse neither he nor Marguerite revealed the horrifying details of their own adventure.  Bargaining for his soul, nearly losing Marguerite. Those things they kept between them.

Looking back he should have realized at that point how strong the bond between them had become.  Even then when they were still learning to trust each other, they were confiding in each other.  Her fears of her unexplainable linguistic abilities, of being forgotten.  His despair over William's death, his ambivalent emotions over the incident with Calista.  The thought of that vampiric infection still made him shudder. 

Now after innumerable adventures later, there was so much between them they had never shared with the others and probably never would.  Yes, Marguerite was the best choice.  Hopefully she'd already be back at the treehouse.  He'd find an excuse to get her away from the others and see what she thought.

He smiled reluctantly.  She might just decide to tease him unmercifully.  That was all right.  It would mean she saw nothing to worry about.  Funny how he didn't object to secrets when they were kept between the two of them.

***

"Excellent work, Veronica.  This seems to be everything."  Challenger was happily sorting through the specimens.

"We'll start planting some of the extras tomorrow."  Veronica was her normal cheery self.  Her bouts of temper didn't last long.

They twisted around as the elevator rumbled to a stop.

"Looks like your hunting was a success."  Roxton's good fortune further buoyed up Challenger's cheerful mood.

"Yes, not too bad at all.  Did Malone and Marguerite make it back yet?"  Roxton dropped the game in the kitchen.  

"Not yet, but you know how Marguerite gets when she starts negotiations."  Challenger was grinning as he returned to surveying the bounty Veronica had brought him.

Roxton returned a perfunctory grin as he hung his hat and guns on the hooks by the elevator.  He had been anticipating the chance to talk with his preferred confidant about the apparition on the trail.

Noticing the hunter pacing impatiently by the balcony, Veronica smiled.  If Marguerite could see him she'd give him a piece of her mind over his fussing.  Maybe she should give him a little grief on Marguerite's behalf.  

***

"Can you explain to me why Veronica is so set against any attempt I make to protect her?  You seem to understand why Roxton does it."  Malone shifted the heavily loaded pack once more on his back.  He considered what he heard and saw between the two of them earlier at the treehouse.

"It doesn't mean I always like it."  Marguerite reached over her shoulder to adjust the bolts of cloth she had acquired in the trade. 

"But you've adapted to it."

"Veronica isn't me.  She grew up in different world than I did."

"But you're independent like she is."

"But to survive I had to make compromises, or at least pretend to compromise."  Marguerite's eyes looked off into the distance, seeing a different kind of jungle.  She looked back at Malone and her lips curved slightly.  "Veronica survived by not making compromises.  Here on the plateau, life is fairly black and white.  Either it kills you and eats you or it leaves you alone."

"Not all that different, there were a lot people who apparently wanted to kill you."  Malone took the opportunity to probe a bit into Marguerite's past.

"But they would pretend to be a friend first."  Marguerite's attention focused outward again.

Malone considered the implications of that statement.

"Why should you and Veronica be like Roxton and I?"  Marguerite's voice was brisk, changing the subject before a nosy reporter decided to dig further.  "You and Roxton are very different people."

"I'm aware of that."  Disgust with himself at not measuring up to Roxton was apparent in his voice.

"Be yourself, Malone."  Marguerite put a hand on his arm to shake him out of his self-reproach.  "That's the person Veronica cares about."

"But how can she respect me, if she thinks I can't take care of her?"

"Maybe she feels the same way."

"Her father protected her and her mother."  After Malone's return Veronica confided the details of her restored memories.  Of her mother and father.  And the confrontation with Mordren.

"And she saw him cut down before her eyes."

"I'd be willing –"

"But maybe she isn't.  She may never be able to stand by and see someone for whom she cares defend her.  She has to help."

"Because –?"  It seemed so obvious when looked at with the knowledge of her father's death.

"Exactly." 

Malone was quiet for a few minutes as he pondered the possibilities.  "Thanks, Marguerite."

"The least I can do since you were forced to babysit me."  Marguerite sighed inwardly in fond exasperation at the man she loved, who's concern caused Malone to volunteer for guard duty.

He smiled at the disgust in his companion's voice then stopped her with a hand on her arm.  She looked at him uncertain what had caught his attention.  His months away had definitely had an effect on him.  But neither could suppress a gasp when the bushes parted.

****

"Maybe Marguerite will come back with a few extras this time."  Veronica spoke with deliberate casualness to the hunter on the balcony.

"She always manages to do well."  Roxton's attention was focused on the jungle. His eyes tried to pick out any sign of movement below that might signal Marguerite and Malone's return.  The late afternoon sun abetted his efforts.

"The chief always wants to please Marguerite.  He has quite a soft spot for her."  Veronica studied a piece of fruit in her hand.  She knew her eyes would give her away.

"What!" Roxton wheeled around and realized by the giggling that Veronica had suckered him.  He shook his head aware that he'd been edgy and showing it.  He always fretted a bit when Marguerite was gone for any length of time.  Too much could and had happened on the plateau.  The earlier encounter, or mirage, or whatever it was, had stirred up his overprotective nature again.  Usually he was better at disguising his worries.  

Veronica tossed the piece of fruit to him as he crossed back into the treehouse interior.  He gave her a rueful grin, determined to relax until their companions returned.

Gunshots echoed in the distance.  Without a backward look Roxton tossed the fruit on the table and made a dash for the gun rack.

"Challenger, get up here!"  Veronica ran to the landing over looking the lab.  "Wait for us, Roxton!"  

The hunter tossed a rifle to the scientist ascending the stairs at a dead run. Veronica handed the older man his hat as they jumped on to the elevator.

***

"Malone!"  Veronica dropped to her knees beside the reporter.  "Rise and shine."  The urgency in her voice contradicted the lighthearted words.  She tapped his cheeks lightly.  The sunlight was filtered through the trees, dappling the narrow path.

Malone sat up on the trail dazed, thinking he dreamt Veronica's voice.

"Are you okay?"  Concern filled her eyes.

Not a dream then, her hand was at his head, her arm supporting his shoulders.

"MARGUERITE!"  Roxton was panicked.  The linguist was nowhere in sight. "Where is she, Malone?"  The harsh demand in his voice was unmistakable.  The two dead cannibals on the path were not encouraging.

"It was with her."  Malone was still blinking his eyes trying to get them to focus properly.

"What was?"  The hunter's voice was a growl.

"It came out on to the path, I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and then the cannibals were there before we could react."  The reporter's voice was unsteady, disbelieving.

"Cannibals took her?"  The scientist tried to get Malone to focus on the events.

"No, it wouldn't let anyone near her, not even me."  He tried to reassure them about their companion's safety, through the haze that continued to cloud his mind.

"You keep saying 'it', Malone.  Describe what you saw."  Challenger was becoming uneasy with Malone's avoidance of whatever 'it' was.

"I've never seen anything like it.  It was incredible."  His voice was stronger now.  "It had the body of a lion, the head and wings of an eagle."  The hunter started at the description.  Then he hadn't imagined it earlier!  "It was over there."  The reporter pointed a few yards down the trail.  He was sitting up now without support.

"A gryphon?  That's impossible!  The blow to your head.  You must have imagined it."  Challenger was stunned.

"I thought they were just a myth.  There's nothing in my parents' journals about them."  Veronica was incredulous as well.

"Bloody hell!"  Roxton was crouched on the path where Malone had pointed, looking at the soft earth.

"I've never seen tracks like those."  Veronica looked over the hunter's shoulder.

"I have."

"Where?"

"Africa." Challenger was transfixed at the hunter's words.  "These prints were made by a lion."  Roxton's companions' eyes widened at the implication.

"Well, not quite a lion."  Marguerite's voice trembled. Eagle wings spread and four golden paws planted themselves firmly beside her. The others froze in place, stunned by the impossible sight; the dark-haired beauty and the golden furred and feathered mythological creature caught in the shaft of sunlight. "I've never fancied myself as a cat person, but this one does seem to have it's own appeal."  She stood pale and shaky a few feet away in the brush bordering the trail.  

"Marguerite."  Roxton cautiously stepped towards her, relieved to find her apparently unharmed.  The hunter gauged the reaction of the unknown beast.

The bird's head tilted inquiringly at the hunter.

"This is most intriguing."  Challenger eagerly approached the creature.  A warning shriek and a swipe of the paw convinced him to change his mind.

"No!"  The slender explorer placed her hand on the beast's back.

"Careful, Marguerite."  Roxton ventured another step.  The gryphon looked more quizzical than alarmed at the hunter's approach.

"It's been more antagonistic towards anyone who's come near me."  The hunter was nearly at her side.  "Except perhaps you."

"How in the name of science can this exist?"  Challenger was enthralled.

"You have to ask that in this place?"  Ned's experiences had given him a healthy respect for the heretofore unexplainable.

The gryphon focused its attention on Roxton's slow steps towards Marguerite.  Keeping an eye on the beast; the experienced hunter kept his movements easy and as non-threatening as he could.  The gryphon took a step back and allowed the two explorers to touch hands.  

"Are you all right?"  Roxton's concern was due to Marguerite's somewhat frantic grip on his arm.  She managed a dubious smile.  

"It knocked me down into the bushes during the scuffle with the cannibals.   Saved me from a thrown axe." Her hand caressed the beast's back, between the wings.  It edged closer to her.  "When I woke up, it was standing over me."  Roxton's hand brushed her hair back to take a closer look at her head.

"We'd better have Challenger take a look at this."

Their movement was blocked by a flurry of wings and four golden paws planted themselves between the couple and their friends.

"If you insist, of course we'll stay."  Marguerite's flippant comment to the beast had Roxton putting a bracing arm around her shoulders.  He remembered another reason why he loved her.

"What do you think he wants with you?"  The hunter looked down at his love.

The linguist shook her head.  "I don't know that it's me he wants.  And how do you know it's a he?"

"Obviously another male who couldn't resist you."  The raised eyebrows for his teasing caused his lips to twitch.  As usual their banter raised their spirits.

The gryphon started nudging the dark haired couple further down the trail.

"I could try a shot."  Malone offered from the other side of the clearing.  He sported a bandage on his head, a testament to Veronica's quick first aid.

"Better not, Malone.  We don't want to hurt it if we don't have to."  Challenger's eyes assessed the mythological animal.

"You can't keep it, Professor!"  Veronica mistrusted the gleam in his eyes.

"Just get that nasty little thought out of your head!"  Marguerite knew a united front would be needed to override the scientist's wishes.

"We don't know that bullets will harm it."  The scientist looked at Malone and Roxton as he spoke.

"What are you suggesting, George?"  Roxton kept trying to put himself between Marguerite and the beast, but the gryphon wouldn't allow that.   With the persistence normally found in a beloved pet, it wouldn't be budged from the woman's side.

"So far it hasn't harmed any of us, and according to Malone and Marguerite it actually protected her.  Firing at it might just provoke it."  George tried to suppress his excitement with scientific detachment.

"So what do we do?"  The reporter was surreptitiously bracing himself against a tree.  The ground was refusing to cooperate by staying still.

"I don't think Marguerite and I have a choice.  We're going to have to go with it."  Roxton was calmer now that everyone was safe for the moment.

"It would seem so."  Challenger agreed.

"You three should go back to the treehouse."  Roxton kept his attention on the gryphon.

Veronica gave a worried look at Malone.  But she was torn with her concern for the older couple.  "We should stick together."  The thought of losing more members of her impromptu family gave the jungle-raised beauty a hollow feeling in her stomach.

"Agreed."  Malone chimed in despite his pallor.

Challenger nodded.  "We can at least try.  Let's see how we fare.

The gryphon nudged the hunter further on the trail, who grumbled.  "I feel like a bloody sheep."  

***

The campfire provided more comfort than warmth or even protection.  

"It seems as if our new found companion is discouraging other predators."  Challenger was on the opposite side of the fire from the dark haired couple.  Marguerite was sitting, Roxton standing near her, keeping a watch for Veronica.  Malone was already stretching out next to the scientist, more exhausted and run down than he wanted to admit.  The golden beast was reclining in seeming comfort braced against Marguerite's leg.

"At least there some advantages."  Marguerite was getting edgy.  The gryphon would not leave her side.  The only one who could be near her was Roxton.  The hunter could move around camp, be with the others and return to her.  It was maddening.  

"Have you noticed that it never takes its eyes off of you?"  Veronica handed Roxton some fruit she had just collected for their meal.  The hunter joined her upon her return to their camp.  The jungle beauty studied their mythological escort.

"I've been aware of that."  Quiet concern filled the hunter.

"Do you think it's Roxton that it really wants?"  Malone looked over at the Marguerite and her de facto companion.  "Then why keep Marguerite at its side?"  Veronica gave him a disbelieving look.  "Oh, right!" 

"That would be a most complex strategy and argue an advanced state of intelligence."  Challenger looked pleased with his conclusion. 

The look Roxton threw the scientist was not kind.  "If that damned beast is using Marguerite to get to me, I'll make a bloody rug out of it."

"It seems unlikely that that's the case."  The words were meant to soothe, but still the professor assessed the beast with new eyes.

***

Marguerite awoke to the feel of movement under her left cheek.  The softness against her face had her murmuring, "You need a haircut, Roxton."

"You took care of that not too long ago."  From her right side an amused voice was pitched low.  She opened her eyes to find the golden fur covered body of the gryphon stretching in the early morning sun.  The tall hunter was on one knee beside her.  His hand was on her shoulder. "Apparently you've tamed our ubiquitous friend enough to be used as a pillow."

Marguerite sat up and stretched.  "It seems the least it could do after dragging us out here."  The gryphon flicked its wings at the linguist's words in seeming disdain.  

Despite the situation, the corners of Roxton's lips curved up slightly.  "Now, Marguerite, if Challenger can't keep it, you shouldn't be making a pet of it."

Veronica and Challenger were both stirring on the opposite side of the dying fire.

"I think our guide is getting impatient, are you ready?"  Roxton walked over to their companions.  Veronica was leaning over Malone, touching his face.  She looked up worriedly.

"Professor, Ned isn't waking up!"

Challenger picked up the reporter's wrist and felt for the pulse.  "His heartbeat seems regular enough, but I think the blow to his head was more severe than we thought."

"I'll be okay, just give me a minute."  Malone's voice was unsteady and his eyelids fluttered.

"I need to take him back to the treehouse."  Veronica's voice brooked no argument.

"I agree, he needs rest.  We can get there by midday taking it in easy stages."  Challenger looked over the reporter as he spoke.

"I can take him by myself, Professor.  You should stay with Roxton and Marguerite."

"No, Veronica.  You shouldn't go alone."  Marguerite's voice came from close by. The gryphon had let her get within a few feet of her friends, apparently reassured by her hand on its back.

"She's right, Veronica.  It'll take two of you.  One to help Malone and the other to guard."  Roxton hated to divide their forces, but saw no other way.

"But you two?"  The jungle girl couldn't keep the concern from her voice.

"We'll be all right.  It helped us out during the battle with the cannibals."  Marguerite reassured the other explorers.

Challenger nodded his agreement.  "Give me your pack, Marguerite.  No sense hauling those supplies all over the jungle."  The dark haired woman handed it over with a grateful sigh.

"Before you go, George, is there anything else you can tell us about our friend here?"  Roxton knew well the value of knowing of an animal's habits.

"You realize of course that this is based on pure legend."  The scientist temporized.  "I have no facts as such."

"Talk, George."  Marguerite would not allow excuses.

"They are reputed to have a preference for eyries."

"Great.  Just what I was looking forward to - climbing up a cliff."  Marguerite sighed.  "Could this day get any better?"

"Gryphons were also noted for being guardians of treasure."

"No wonder it won't leave your side."  Roxton raised his eyebrows.  Marguerite responded with a grimace for his attempt at humor.  The others grinned as they turned to make their way back to the treehouse. 

***

The gryphon hovered in the air several feet away.  Marguerite and Roxton pulled themselves onto the next ledge.  The rocky terrain offered niches for hands and feet, but the mountain path their guide picked out was extremely steep, almost vertical in spots.  The green of the small outcroppings of vegetation scattered up the mountainside was almost iridescent in the brilliant morning sun.

"How much further do you think?" Breathless, Marguerite accepted the canteen Roxton offered.

"No way to tell."  The hunter twisted and studied the next portion of the ascent.  It had been a nearly vertical climb for the past hour.  "There, does that look like a cave to you?"  He pointed a short distance up and to the right.

"Could be. Or it could be a shadow."  Marguerite studied the indicated ledge.  


***

It took about a quarter of an hour to complete the ascent to the cave they spotted.  As the couple went in the gryphon stationed itself at the entrance.  Spying an abandoned torch, Roxton lit it before attempting to gain the interior of the cavern.  The two of them began to search the shallow cave by the wavering torchlight for whatever might have caused the gryphon to lead them here.  The dimness of the cave seemed to leach the color around them, leaving small pools of light, heavy patches of darkness, and an infinite variety of shades of gray.

In an alcove, nearly invisible in the poorly lit cave, stood a small black statue about a foot tall.  Marguerite studied the undistinguished object carefully.  Something about it tickled at the back of her memory.  She picked it up and turned to face the hunter.

"Do you know what this is, John?"  Marguerite used both hands to hold the heavy black statuette.  A bar of light from the cave entrance fell across her hands.  Her face was in shadow.

"Looks like a statue of a bird.  I don't see any thing special about it."  Roxton gave a disinterested glance at the object Marguerite held.  He was more interested in keeping an eye on their surroundings.  Seeing a convenient opening, he jammed the torch into a crevice in the cave wall.

"That's because it has its own disguise."  It wasn't the weight of the statue or the strain of the climb that made her breathless.  "It's just black enamel covering the surface.  This has moved in and out of history for centuries.  I thought it was just legend."  The light from the entrance caught the excitement in her eyes as she took as step forward.

"That's the plateau for you.  Nothing's just a legend here."  The glow from the torch silhouetted the hunter from behind, leaving his face in shadow.

"About eighty years ago, it turned up in Paris with this coating.  It dropped out of sight sometime in the past fifty years."  Marguerite rested the statue on a ledge in the cave.  She and the statue were in a circle of light from the torch.  She pulled her knife from her belt.  "About two hundred years ago, it was rumored to have been in Sicily."

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure this isn't a wild goose chase."  She scraped a layer of enamel from the bottom of the statue.  A glimmer of gold winked at her.  Her excitement was contagious.  "Or should I say falcon?"

"Just what is it?"  Roxton's attention was split between sentry duty and the statue.  The light from the cave entrance outlined his profile.

"Legend has it that the Order of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem had sent a golden statue, encrusted with jewels to Charles V in gratitude for being granted the island of Malta."

"But it never made it there." Roxton interrupted incredulously.  His attention was now wholly on the statue.  The black enameled bird drew him close.  The torch cast a glow on his face.

"How did you know?"  Marguerite frowned, perplexed.  Roxton usually had very little knowledge of jewels and artifacts.

"The year was 1539, and a famous admiral of the buccaneers relieved the Knight Templars' galley whilst bound for Spain and Charles the V."  Roxton eyed the statue avidly.

"How did you --?  It couldn't have been your ancestor!"  

"No, but Captain John Roxton was an adventurous boy.  It was nearly a dozen years later that he ran away and ended up a cabin boy."

"On the ship and heard the story."  The dark haired beauty concluded.  She handed the statue to the amazed nobleman.  He turned it over, awed by a legendary bit of family history in his hands.  The couple stood in the lambent light of the torch.

"Not only that, Marguerite.  He saw the statue when it was in Algiers.  He described it in his journal in later years."  His percipient eyes tried to pick out the details rendered in his ancestor's memoirs.  Details now buried beneath the coating of black enamel.

"Do you know how it got away from Algiers?"

"Sir Francis Verney, an adventurer, brought it away with him."  Roxton passed the heavy statue back to his beautiful companion.  " How do you know so much about it?"

She turned away, her face in the shadows. "The owner of club where Adrienne and I worked was obsessed with finding it."  Memories of the life she led while working for 'the fatman' sent shivers down Marguerite's spine.  With the discipline hard-earned from a life still shrouded in secrecy, she managed to prevent a physical reaction to the memory.  Roxton reached out and touched her chin turning her face towards him.

"We need to find out how it got from Paris to here."  Roxton sought to ease the pain in Marguerite's eyes by distracting her from whatever memory troubled her.

"I believe I can answer that."  The voice was old, but it echoed resoundingly through the cavern.

The couple drew back-to-back, protecting each other, turning in a circle, eyes probing the darkness, unable to find the source of the voice.

"If you want to see me, you'll have to follow the tunnel a little further back.  S'il vous plait?"

Roxton nodded toward the opening, barely visible, at the back of the cave.  He stepped in front of his companion.  Holding his rifle in front of him ready to be raised, he led the way.  Marguerite's free hand kept a feathery touch on his arm, a tangible reminder to each of the other's presence.  Tucked in the crook of her other arm, was the statue.  Behind them softly padded their mythological guide.

Further in the tunnel widened into a cavern, fresh air and light came from several small openings.  A small waterfall provided a soothing background.  Belongings and supplies scattered around bespoke a longtime residence.

"Welcome, it is rare that I have the opportunity to entertain guests.  Please make yourself comfortable."  The source of the voice was an old man apparently European, but dressed in a loose pale blue shirt and darker drawstring pants that obviously originated on the plateau.  There was the barest hint of an accent.

"He sounds French, Parisian at that."  Marguerite confided in an undertone to the hunter.

Their host was almost hidden in the corner, a ledge of the cave piled with cushions.  He sat ensconced in their softness. He waved his hand at the other cushion-covered natural formations in the cave.  

Glancing at each other, Marguerite and Roxton elected to remain standing.

"You want to tell us why we are here?"  Roxton kept his manner cold. "And how you managed to talk to us."

"As to how you could hear me and I you, it's a simple matter of acoustics.  But as to why you are here."  He paused seemingly reluctant to continue. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure why there are two of you.  I was only expecting one, you see.  My companion seems to have outdone himself."

"He does this often?  Brings you visitors?"  Marguerite moved to Roxton's side.

"Never one as charming or as beautiful as you.  Forgive me for not having risen to greet you properly."

"Don't trouble yourself.  We're not planning on staying."  The gryphon's squawk seemed to indicate offense at the linguist's words.  "On the other hand it would be rude to just rush off."

"At least allow me introduce myself, chérie."  With a dignity that belied his infirmity, the old man rose.  "I am Andre Moreau.  May I know who I have the honor of addressing?"

Unable to discern any harm in the old man, the dark haired beauty answered.  "I'm Marguerite Krux.  This is Lord John Roxton, Monsieur Moreau."

"Enchanté, Mademoiselle Krux."  M. Moreau reached out to take her hand.  The hunter stepped in front of his companion, unwilling to trust the old man.  That move brought a gleam to the old man's eyes.

"Ah, I'm beginning to see why my pet brought the two of you."  

"Care to explain?"  Roxton watched as the old man gingerly sought his cushions again.  The gryphon padded softly over and curled near his feet.

"It seems that both of you, Lord Roxton, must have a connection to my object d'art."  The old man studied the two before him to see if he was right, but their faces were impassive.  "In truth I only needed one of you.  But an attempt to force you, Lord Roxton, would have been met with violence.  With your own life you would have taken a chance, but not with your companion.  I trust that the gryphon didn't harm you, Mademoiselle Krux?"

"No, he protected me from cannibals."  Marguerite glanced at Roxton's face hoping that the reminder would head off any rash action on his part.

"Excellent.  And since he saved you, Lord Roxton would be reluctant to put a bullet into my friend."  Moreau looked at the hunter directly.  "Bringing your charming companion here would ensure that you would accompany her."  The gryphon raised his head as if to confirm the old Frenchman's supposition.  "And if my most able companion had managed to bring you here, Lord Roxton, I'm certain Mademoiselle Krux would not have been far behind, anyway."  The elderly Frenchman nodded to himself, confirming his own supposition.

"What do you want from us?"  They strayed too far from the point, as far as Roxton was concerned.

"Let me explain about the object you hold in your hands.  May I?"  He held his hands out for the statue Marguerite held.  She silently stepped forward and placed it in his outstretched hands.  The gryphon displayed only mild interest in the proceedings.  "Many years ago, I was in Paris.  I wandered into a most unusual shop.  In a dusty corner, I saw this."  He held up the black statue and studied it, once more lost in wonder.  

"How did you know what it was?"  Marguerite stepped forward once more; fascinated by the old man.

"I didn't, not at first.  I just knew it called to me.  I fancied myself an artist back then."  He smiled sadly in memory.  "I painted, I sculpted, wrote bad verse, drank worse wine, sipped absinthe, sat in cafes by the Seine, starved in a garret.  All the things a sensitive young man does in Paris."  He mocked himself with his words.

Marguerite smiled in gentle remembrance at his description of Parisian life.  "So you bought it."

"A starving artist doesn't have funds to buy things like that.  I thought to raise the money, but somehow, I knew I couldn't wait.  I'm afraid I acquired it by less than scrupulous means."

"A man after your own heart."  Roxton bent his head to Marguerite's ear.  She looked askance at him letting him know she wasn't amused.

"It turned out I was right, it couldn't wait.  It was October in 1870."

"The Franco-Prussian War."  Roxton's knowledge of historical events and their underlying causes was extensive.  He had always been fascinated by the subject.  It became vital when duty required him to assume his father's seat in the House of Lords.

"I wanted to flee Paris.  My only thought was to protect the black bird.  In the wrong hands it would be taken apart, the jewels stripped from it and sold, the gold melted down.  I escaped with Leon Gambetta in his balloon."  Roxton nodded his recognition of the name.  "I made my way to the coast, as he went on to organize a resistance movement.  At Calais I was persuaded to accept passage to the Bermudas.  I wanted some distance between myself and the fighting.  I ended up in a worse case."

"What happened?"  The soft question from a beautiful woman once again drew a gleam in the Frenchman's eye.  It had been too long since he'd been the focus of such fascination from the opposite sex.

"I ended up aboard a submarine, the Nautilus.  A most terrifying man, Nemo, was the Captain.  He ended up casting me adrift somewhere off the coast of Bermuda.  With my apparently worthless statue."  Moreau smiled in remembrance of his deviousness.  "A storm came up, I thought the black bird and I would end up on the ocean floor, but some how I fell from the sky into a small saltwater sea, not too far from here."

Roxton and Marguerite exchanged glances.  This story mirrored the tale told in the late and unlamented Captain Bonny's log.

"I know that sounds farfetched, but –" His Gallic shrug was expressive.

"Welcome to the Lost World."  Marguerite's voice was rueful.

"This _rara avis_ needs to go back.  It's time."

"Go back where?"  Roxton eyed the Frenchman warily.

"To Europe, of course."

"We'd all like to go back."  Roxton was noncommittal.  He'd heard this siren's song before.

"You know a way off the plateau?"  There was no disguising the hopefulness in the linguist's voice.

"Not for myself, or you I'm afraid, but for this, yes."

*** 

"Oh, that hurts."  The trek through the jungle had made Malone's headache worse.  Even the elevator's gentle stop, caused a vibration in his head.

"Easy now, Ned."  Stepping off the elevator Veronica supported the reporter.

"Let's take a look at that bump.  Why don't you go lay down?"  Challenger was putting their guns away.

Malone nodded, and regretted the motion with a visible wince.  With Veronica still holding his arm, he made his way to his bed.

"You can't think much of me.  Needing so much help."  Malone's voice was soft and downcast.  Nothing had gone right.  He'd been knocked out in a fight, failed Roxton in his promise to protect Marguerite.  And now he had to be taken home, helped and guarded, while their other friends went into who knew what danger.

"Don't be silly, Ned.  Everyone needs help now and then."  Veronica held his arm to steady him as he sat on the bed.

"Apparently you don't."  The trace of bitterness was unmistakable in the young explorer's voice.

At the entrance to Malone's room, Challenger paused.  He realized the young couple needed a moment's privacy.  With a tact that would have amazed his wife or any of his colleagues at Edinburgh he turned back towards the treehouse great room.  "I'll get some supplies from the lab.  I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Veronica looked at the man who had been so close to her for a short while, wondering how they had drifted apart.

"After all, Veronica, you never need help."  It was an accusation.

"I can always use help, Malone.  What I don't need is protection.  I'm not Marguerite."  Her voice grew in volume and coldness as she spoke.  "You can stop trying to turn me into her."

Malone was taken aback at the jungle beauty's anger.  He recalled Marguerite trying to tell him something along the same lines.  "I don't want you to be her."  He tried to steady his voice; his anger would only drive them further apart.  "I know you're a better fighter than Marguerite, Challenger or even me.  But are all of us worthless in a fight?"

Veronica was appalled at what she had said.  She and Marguerite had become friends over the years.  While she was happy that Marguerite and Roxton seemed closer, she couldn't prevent a bit of contempt over the way Marguerite accepted most of Roxton's overprotective actions.  She was determined that she would never allow Ned to act like that towards her.  "Don't you understand, Ned?  I can't let anyone fight my battles for me."

"Could you let someone fight them with you?"  Ned's voice was gentle.  Veronica swallowed; her mouth suddenly dry.

"Maybe.  We could talk about it."  Veronica wasn't sure what to think.

"Good, now could you help me with my boots?"  The pain creeping back into the lines around his mouth and eyes offset the humor of the question.

***

"So we take this to the tribe at the base of the cliff and they'll take care of it."  The hunter mistrusted anything that sounded too easy.

"Their shaman will."

"Why now?"  Marguerite studied the face of the old man.

"Both I and my companion are near the end.  The gryphon's mate has died.  He'll soon follow.  They mate for life, you see.  They don't last long without each other."  The Frenchman eyed the couple in front of him and again nodded to himself.  "They depend on each other."

"What will happen to you?"

Moreau smiled at her concern.  "I'll be fine.  I have friends in the village.  I lived with them for many years after my abrupt entry to this fascinating world." He glanced at his longtime companion, curled near his feet.  "When the gryphon pair were drawn to this and became its guardians, this eyrie became my home and the home of this."  He stroked the statue, gently, almost tenderly.  "It's been a good life."  His face was happy, peaceful.  "Just not the one I planned on. My friends will bring me what I need."

Roxton glanced back, thinking of the cliff they had scrambled up.  

"Oh, not that way.  There's an easier way on the other side.  My companion doesn't need it however, so he never uses it."

"If you have friends in the village, why bring us into it?"  Roxton was cool with suspicion.

"Because only an 'owner', if you will, can give it up."

"Neither one of us has a claim on it."

"But you do, Lord Roxton.  Your family history has tied you to it."

"I have no claim. I only knew of it."  Marguerite's voice was exceptionally mild.

"Mademoiselle Krux, your tie to it is even stronger.  If this item goes back, someone from your past will be driven to find it."

"All the more reason to leave it here.  The last thing I want is for him to get what he always wanted."  The quiet voice had Roxton eyeing her closely.

"Ah, but what if in the attempt to get what he wants, perhaps he gets what he deserves?"

Marguerite thought of Adrienne and their time with 'the fatman'. If she could get a bit vengeance for her late friend, perhaps she wouldn't be as haunted by at least that part of her past.  Roxton looked at his companion worriedly.  Her past was a burdensome thing.  His desire to shield her from harm was useless against it.  She looked up and saw his eyes on her.  Giving him an awkward smile, she paced a bit, heading to the back entrance of the cave Moreau called home.

"Marguerite doesn't need this.  We can't help you."  Roxton kept his voice low.  His normal desire to help others was overridden by his need to care for the sometimes prickly, always incredibly complex woman for whom he had fallen.

"I glad you're aware of the true treasure within your grasp."  Moreau looked at the black enameled bird and then across the cave to where Marguerite paced.  "Many men are blind or too cowardly when faced with a woman of fire and steel."  Roxton shifted uncomfortably at hearing his description of Marguerite coming from another man.  "But I think she does need this."

"I won't let her be hurt." The hunter's stance was stiff and unyielding.

"It's all right, John, I won't be."  Marguerite appeared at his side, a calming hand on his arm.  "I'm doing this for Adrienne.  The real one, not that vile spirit that usurped her image.  I owe it to her."

Roxton remembered a fragment from a conversation that seemed eons ago in the darkened treehouse.  _"Maple White and Adrienne Montclair are reflections of a guilty conscience?"_  He looked at the dark-haired woman he loved.  "Will you feel better if we do this?"

"Immeasurably."  She smiled easily at him, drawing a smile from him as she tossed one of his commonly used expressions back at him.

***

 "How is he, Professor?"  Veronica kept her voice down as Challenger put his medical supplies down on the table in the great room.

"He's going to be fine."

Veronica smiled at the scientist's reassurance.  It struck her how she had come to depend on the older man over the years.  

"I don't know what we'd do without you."  The gratitude was apparent in her countenance.

Challenger smiled at her words.  "I think I can safely say we all need each other."  He looked at the young jungle girl whose face looked suddenly troubled at his words.  "What is it, Veronica?"

"I'm not sure about all this needing."  Her back was to the scientist as she spoke.

"Why, Veronica, I might have expected a comment like that from Marguerite when we first arrived.  But not you.  Needing us doesn't diminish you."  Challenger looked at the young woman closely.  He'd acted as a surrogate father to her on more than one occasion.

"How can you say that?"  Fighting her own battles was how she had survived before the arrival of the explorers.

"Remember when Roxton had to face his darker side that Oseena called forth?"  Veronica nodded.  "He wanted to face him on his own.  You wouldn't let him."  The older explorer watched her carefully; anxious to understand where the difficulties lay.

"There was no call for him to do that on his own."  Veronica remembered the plea for help in Marguerite's eyes.  

"Did you think less of him because he required help or was willing to accept help?"  Challenger knew the answer to this, but Veronica needed to verbalize it.

"Of course not.  He's helped me any number of times.  If anyone can hold his own in a fight, it's Roxton."  The jungle-raised girl spoke with conviction.

"Oh, I quite agree.  And my scientific expertise, not my battle skills are what I contribute."

"We all depend on you, Challenger."  Veronica was quick with the assurance.

"But what about Marguerite and Malone?  You don't think we depend on them, do you?"  The scientist's question was quiet.

Veronica looked away.

"I seem to recall that Malone was the one who killed the T-rex when the four of you got involved with that boy king.  And if I remember correctly, his resourcefulness, in a large part, was responsible for saving the treehouse.  He used those meat bombs that attracted the raptors when those scavengers had you pinned here with flaming arrows."  The information was offered almost impartially.

"You're right, Challenger. I guess I forget that it's not always battle skills we need."  Veronica felt a little embarrassed at needing the reminder.

"And how about Marguerite.  I remember when we went to that valley with the Paradise fruit.  She told us it wasn't a good idea.  In her own tactful way, of course."  As intended those words provoked a wistful grin from Veronica.  "Then she used her gift for subterfuge to save us all."

"What you're trying to tell me, Professor, is that our contributions vary, but we need them all."  The jungle girl felt a little guilty over the way she had minimized how her two companions aided them. 

"If we're to survive we do."

Veronica looked towards Malone's room thoughtfully and nodded her agreement.

***

The shaman knew them.  The explorers didn't presume to question how.

"Lord Roxton, Marguerite Krux.  You come with a petition."  It wasn't a question.  The woman's red dress flared as she turned; her movements lithe and graceful despite her apparent age.  The red paint on her face and the red markings on her arms set her apart from others in the tribe.

"Do you know why we're here?"  Roxton looked at the woman most curiously.

"It is time to complete the cycle.  We have given a resting place to this noble bird.  Now it must begin its journey again."

"If you send it back, it will end up in the most unscrupulous hands."  Marguerite thought again about the owner of the 'pit'.

"The bird has a way of protecting itself, Marguerite.  Retribution against the one who has wronged you and yours will eventually be taken.  Not swiftly, but surely it will happen."

Marguerite swallowed and tried to hide her discomfort at being read so easily.  She felt Roxton's hand at her waist, unobtrusively stroking her back.  She took a measure of comfort in his wordless support.

"It is necessary that Lord Roxton also consider this decision.  Is this acceptable?"  The shaman looked to the British nobleman.

The memory of the pain in Marguerite's eyes was enough reason for Roxton to nod his acquiescence.  "Send it back."  _"Bring down the bastard who hurt her."_

At the hunter's thought the shaman looked up at him and seem to see his unspoken request.  She smiled slightly and nodded.  She placed the seemingly insignificant statue of a bird on the large rock.  The flat surface was ringed with candles.  The black statue seemed to glow and reflect the candlelight.  Her quiet words did not reach the couple as they stood watching her.

"All that gold and jewels, sure you don't want to make a grab for it?"  The need to lighten the mood sparked the British nobleman's comment.  An easy smile sat on his face as he gave a sideways glance to his companion.

"Why, Lord Roxton, I'm amazed to hear you suggest such a thing."  Marguerite's eyes held a peace in them that hadn't been there before.

"Because I suggested it before you could?"

"No.  I was just considering your family history.  I would think relieving the next owner on the high seas would be more appropriate."  The merriment in her eyes was a balm to his soul.

"We'll consider it.  When we get off the plateau."  His smile matched hers.  They watched as smoke surrounded the statue.  

When it cleared the rock was empty.

_Elsewhere_

The smoke in the dim, obscure shop was never noticed.  When it cleared there on a shelf an unremarkable black statuette of a bird sat.  A dealer named Charilaos Konstantinides walked in.  The small statue began its next journey.  

But that's been documented elsewhere.

finis

**Author's Notes:** According to T.S. Elliot 'Immature poets borrow……Mature poets steal.' And I think if you're going to steal; steal from the best.  

The details of the black bird's history are combined from Dashiell Hammett's novel and the even more popular movie of the same name, The Maltese Falcon.  I chose the timeline in the movie, since it fit better with the explorers' timeline.  I knew the bird had to have been on the plateau for those years when it was mentioned in the movie that it turns up in an obscure shop in 1923.  

Since the original pirates' theft occurred conveniently close to Captain John Roxton's adventures, he must have come across it as well.  And because Marguerite and Adrienne worked for someone known as 'the fatman', it all came together, albeit later than I planned.

The closing line of the movie, uttered by Sam Spade is 'the stuff that dreams are made of', hence the title of this hopefully fun piece.

Captain Nemo and the Nautilus are from Jules Verne's novel 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.  The novel was set starting in 1867 just a couple of years before Moreau disappearance from France so it was a convenient vehicle or at least the Nautilus was.

The name Andre Moreau is borrowed from Scarmouche by Rafael Sabatini.

The events of the Franco-Prussian war came from several sources. Leon Gambetta's escape from Paris in a balloon is a historical fact.

More material on gryphons can be found at "gryphonguild.org"

**Additional author note:** I know that J&G have said that 'the fatman' was their nod to the Maltese Falcon.  In my story I took it a little further than that.  The story had been written and the ensuing discussion during the beta process was responsible for the question posed, so I have left my concept of the connection in, I do hope you all enjoyed it.


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